


Straight on 'Til Morning

by Luciferine



Series: Straight on 'Til Morning [1]
Category: The Last of Us
Genre: Angst, Compliant to First Game Only, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Written Prior to Sequel Release, and ellie puts up with him regardless, basically joel is an emotionally constipated bastard, ellie/joel if you squint i guess, first story post on ao3, this should be interesting, we havent gotten much comfort yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 19:03:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luciferine/pseuds/Luciferine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the end of the game. Ellie muses on what she and Joel have been through, the implications of their actions, and where exactly they're supposed to go from here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Straight on 'Til Morning

**Author's Note:**

> AN: It's been a long time coming, and you guys have been nothing but amazing and patient as all hell. For those of you who weren't aware, the SOTM series underwent an edit that, while keeping to the series storyline, included more in-depth content. It's the series you loved, but with some bonus content. My version of a SOTM DLC, if you will. I'm really proud of what I did. I hope you guys enjoy it, too.

It's hard to breathe.

It's not that it hurts, to let the air in. Even as she is, dazed and out of her element, Ellie would know if it did. She's been beaten bloody enough times to know what it feels like to have the wind knocked out of her, to have her body work against her as she struggles for air, and this isn't it. At least, not in the way she's gotten used to. There's no injury that should constrict her, no bruise around her throat in the shape of a hand and no gaping wound in her chest. She's alive, she's whole. At least, she's as whole as she'll ever be again. She's  _free_ , in a way she's never been. She doesn't have to answer to anything or anyone except, if she chooses, to the man walking with her in silence.

For the first time in her admittedly short life, Ellie is free, and she's beginning to think that's why the air won't come. She's not used to this calm, to staring out at a blank future that she can fill as she chooses; a future that could stretch for a hell of a lot longer than the handful of years she'd long ago resigned herself to.

She's used to living her life by the day, guarded and unsure because planning ahead would be pushing her luck more than it's been pushed already. She's never had any direction to follow, no ultimate goal to fight for, except for the cure. She fought like hell for the cure, in the year or so that burden rested on her shoulders. Now, that's gone, too. She's aimless again, drifting, when just hours ago she was so sure it was all about to be over.

The second she woke up, she knew something wasn't right, not least because she was awake. Meaning she was alive;  _is_  alive. Not dead, not even in the fucking hospital.  _Not dead._  That much should be obvious, but she keeps coming back to it.  _Not dead not dead not dead._  She shakes her head, like she can physically force her thoughts into something that makes  _sense_. She's not at all used to them being this muddled, but at least she has an excuse; it's been one  _hell_  of a stressful day.

More of a stressful  _year_ , if she's being completely honest, but expecting to die for the salvation of all mankind and then waking up in the backseat of a car… if that doesn't take the fucking cake, she doesn't know what does. Not that she should be surprised in the slightest, not with Joel involved.  _Fucking_  Joel. She should have known, should have guessed that he'd... what? Fuck it up? Save her? What the hell is she even supposed to call it?

They haven't spoken much –at all- since she made him swear. Since she saw the lie in his face. She knows what happened in there –and what she doesn't know first-hand, she can piece together from the lies he told her- and she's pretty sure he knows she knows. Not that either of them are going to mention it willingly. It's weighing on him, though. She can see it in the way he carries himself, in his face when she can catch a glimpse of it. She feels it too, in the air between them and in her ribcage, expanding so that her heart feels crushed against the bone. They'll have to talk about it eventually. She knows that. Joel knows that too, she's sure, somewhere in that thick skull of his. But it's still too raw, still too fresh. Now's not the time. She doesn't know if she wants it to ever  _be_  the time, not for this.

Now, they're going back to Tommy's. How they'll explain Ellie's continued presence at Joel's side, she has no idea. She's sure Joel will come up with something as usual. She'll nod and agree to whatever it is, that much she knows. What choice does she have? She's angry, sure. Or she  _will_  be, once she's not exhausted and frazzled and in a sizeable amount of shock. Once she's gotten herself together there'll be yelling, probably – _definitely_ \- a fair amount of cursing. And it's more than likely that she's going to try and gets a few good hits in before it's over.

But that's  _later_. Right now, if she's going to be completely honest with herself, which she is reluctant to do even in the relative safety of her own mind, she's… relieved. Not that she wasn't ready to die for the cause, for the  _cure_. Of course she was. But when they put her under, and she knew she wasn't ever going to wake up, she felt fear. She didn't have much. Still doesn't. But she had Joel, and he had her. She knew right away, when she woke up in that sterile room, that he didn't know it would be like this. And she felt fucking relief. Joel hadn't led her to her death. She could have died happy with that knowledge. That he meant well the whole time through.

Except for that bit in the beginning where he wanted to shoot her for being Infected. She almost laughs, blames it on the shock, but it  _is_ funny, how far they're past that, at this point. The man took down an entire faction of Fireflies –she thinks, she  _dreads_ , because it makes sense, he had to, there's no way in hell they would've let her go- to keep her safe. Gave up the only possibility of a better world,  _to keep her safe_. It was stupid and selfish and reckless and she will  _definitely_  have to punch him for it later, but he'd done it for  _her_.

"Ellie?" Joel's voice is low as he calls her back to the present, the touch on her shoulder feather-light and hesitant; always hesitant, now, like it's been since winter. She wonders, the tiniest bit of irritation coloring her thoughts, if he's worried he's going to break her. Hasn't she proven herself strong enough to hold her own, to stand beside him without faltering? Has he already forgotten who stitched him back together when he'd managed to nearly fucking  _gut_  himself? She turns her head, maybe to snap at him for treating her like she's made of glass, but the second she takes in the look on his face, her irritation fizzles out.

He looks so tired, and  _fuck_ , can she ever empathize with that. She doesn't remember what it feels like to  _not_  be exhausted, to have it settle and set in her bones like cement, dragging her down with every movement. She can't imagine how Joel must feel, after so many years of that same exhaustion dogging him.

"Yeah?" she responds, her voice just as quiet. He's silent for a few beats, and if it wasn't for the hand resting on her shoulder she'd think she just imagined that he spoke.

His mouth twists briefly, like the words on his tongue aren't sitting right. She lets him struggle in peace; it's not like they're in any sort of rush. They have all the time in the fucking world. He's made sure of that. "You alright?" he asks finally, and she wonders if that's what he really wanted to ask, or if that was all he could force to come out.

She shrugs. "Yeah, I guess."  _No, I'm fucking not. And neither are you, I know you and you're not alright at all, you lying bastard_ , she thinks to herself, more weary than angry. He doesn't believe her, she can tell. Her detailed knowledge of the man in front of her is a two-way street, whether she likes it or not. It's not like she's trying all that hard to be convincing, either. His eyes tighten briefly, and she watches as he swallows back whatever contradiction he might have and nods instead.

"Alright." It's much too close to  _'okay'_ for her liking, and she'll bet by his sudden grimace that he recognizes his mistake. Joel doesn't move his hand from her shoulder, and Ellie doesn't try and shrug it off. It's warm and familiar, the only touch in ages that hasn't made her skin crawl and her stomach heave. His hand shifts, his thumb brushing her neck in a gesture that surprises her, not unpleasantly, until the warmth is abruptly gone. "Sorry," he mutters, hand pulled back like she's burned him, and if she had the energy maybe she would laugh, or tell him that it's okay, he can touch her, that he feels like home.

Instead, she says, "It's fine," and starts walking again, ignoring the phantom warmth left on her skin.  _I'm supposed to be angry at you_ , she thinks exasperatedly. The warmth lingers, and she sighs. It sounds dangerously close to an admission of defeat. There's a moment where she only hears one set of footsteps, and her muscles seize up, gut twisting. Her feet are already turning her back when she hears heavy footsteps crushing the dirt. He's beside her again in a heartbeat, and her muscles unclench. The feeling in her stomach eases a bit, but remains.  _He wouldn't leave you_ , she admonishes herself.  _Not after all he's done to make you stay._

If it was hard to breathe before, it's unbearable, now.

The future, being as uncertain as it is –Tommy's as likely to welcome them as he is to shoot them for their betrayal; and it is  _theirs_ , even if it wasn't her idea, and even if she isn't found guilty, she's more likely to follow Joel than stay-, doesn't provide much of a distraction. Fragments of her memory, drug-warped and hazy, take center-stage in her head.

She won't tell Joel -at least not now, not when they're so uncertain- but she remembers a lot more of what happened in there than he thinks. Oh  _god_ , does she remember. She doesn't know if the drugs weren't strong enough or if she wasn't given enough, but consciousness  _did_  come to her, in brief flashes.

_Bright lights, masked faces, her lungs burning like they're on fire, like she's dying, and she's alone why is she alone where's Joel? He promised he wouldn't leave without her, he promised… Gunshots, gunshots that don't make sense, unless… she's floating... no, she's running… Not scared anymore, safe, warm…Marlene? She heard Marlene, where is she? More gunshots…oh, no…_  She cringes away from that thought, blocks it out for another time. She's not ready, not yet. She doesn't know where to begin with grieving Marlene.

More clearly, she remembers him muttering,  _"We're okay, we're okay,"_  like a fucking prayer, as if whatever god that still happened to observe this wreck of a planet would hear and make his words true. She remembers his voice,  _seconds_  away from falling apart.

That eases the violent guilt she feels, somewhat. It's twisted and fucked up but it's the truth. It's a relief to know that Joel would have been a wreck if he left her there. That, if nothing else, her being alive brings him some sort of purpose. She knows, in a quiet corner of her heart, that Joel would probably have swallowed a bullet before the day was out if she had died in there, cure or no cure. He wouldn't have lived to even see the vaccine prototype.

She knows this like she knows they've single-handedly destroyed the world for good. She cringes away from the image her mind supplies her. She's seen Joel aim and shoot so many times to save her life and his own. It isn't hard to imagine him turning the gun on himself. Suddenly it's all too much, the memories and her imagination warping together inside of her until she feels like she's going to rupture. A noise escapes her, something pained and agonizing and barely even human.

She's shaking. No, she's  _being_  shaken. It takes her a minute to center herself, her senses creeping back to her like morphine in her veins. She becomes aware of a hand on each of her shoulders, warm and  _real_ , their grip stronger than before but still  _gentle_ , always so gentle with her. "Ellie? Dammit, Ellie…" Her vision finally focuses, eyes finding Joel's without difficulty. It's beyond strange to feel so calm when he's an anxious mess. She watches his eyes, wide and dark with worry, dart across her face in an attempt to understand what's happening to her.

"Where does it hurt? I didn't think they'd… I shoulda…" His voice doesn't crack, not quite, but he loses the words halfway through in a way she's sure isn't on purpose. She shakes her head and offers something shaky that's supposed to be a smile. She doesn't trust her voice to keep steady. He relaxes slightly at her response, his hands slackening on her.  _You killed Marlene_ , she thinks,  _didn't you? You killed all of them_ , and her stomach still doesn't turn even once at the sight of him.

If he's a monster, if he really is  _the crazy man_ , then what the hell does that make her? He certainly doesn't  _seem_  monstrous now, his hands still ghosting over her arms in search of the imaginary wound. He must know she's fine, though she wonders if his concern is just more of the overwhelming fear from… from earlier.

She would laugh if her heart wasn't aching with the affirmation to her thoughts. He would have died if she had. And isn't that just fucked up on so many levels? Out of everyone she's ever known and loved, he's the only one left; this stupid, selfish, selfless, shattered man. And she wouldn't have even been able to save him.

The only one who really matters, and she would have killed him with the death that would save everyone else in the whole world. She feels tears start to gather and she doesn't know if it's stress or lack of sleep or just the fucking ridiculousness of this entire situation but she wants to cry so  _fucking_  hard.

She's failed everyone, even Joel.  _Especially_ Joel. She should be angry at him, should be shouting and throwing punches and getting as far away from him as she can, but she isn't. She can't. Even without his speech on the hill, even without that painfully honest confession making sense of all the lies, she couldn't go anywhere. She'd promised him once, not that long ago, that she wasn't going to let him go. Nothing, not even his complete destruction of everything she worked for, will change that.

What kills her, though, what really fucking kills her is that she was doing it for him. Yes, she wanted to end the suffering the pandemic had caused, and of course she owed it to everyone she lost along the way to see it through, but Joel is all she has left. She owes him everything, but it's more than that. She wanted to help create a world where he wouldn't have to watch his back constantly, where he could be happy, and where she wouldn't have to worry about losing him to something as inconsequential as a bite. Now, that's all gone. She can lose him at any moment, and it's his entire fucking  _fault_.

"I'm not going to break," she says, the words coming out with an almost desperate edge as his hands slide off her shoulders. She almost stops him, her hands moving to grab his, but she aborts the gesture, her hands fluttering uselessly at her sides. She doesn't know if he understands what she means when he says, "You're strong," in a way that sounds just a bit too pacifying, like she's a scared little kid that needs comfort. It's the answer she'd thought of herself, but she realizes now it's not the one she wanted. He doesn't reach out to touch her again, and she thinks he's missed the point, or else she has. His eyes are still panicked, still half-wild as if waiting for everything to go to hell again.

She watches his jaw work, expression unreadable, and she suddenly doesn't want to hear whatever concerns he's about to voice. "I need to sit down," she informs him, and starts to do so without waiting for a reply. Her limbs feel heavy and slow, and she loses her balance about halfway to the ground. Her head is already aching in anticipation of the impact when Joel catches her, hands under her arms.

"Easy," he mutters, and she manages some sort of thanks as he helps her to the ground. "I reckon you're still a little,"  _Drugged,_ her mind supplies bitterly _,_ "off-balance."

She doesn't have the energy to call him out on his bullshit, so she nods. "Yeah." Now would probably be the perfect opportunity to catch him out, if she could. If the Fireflies gave up on the cure, why did they put her under? Does he think she doesn't recognize the difference between being unconscious and being under the influence of something? There are so many holes in Joel's story, and she can't figure out for the life of her what he's trying to accomplish.

"I'm fine," she tells him when he doesn't move away. "Seriously, Joel. I'm okay. I'm just… tired. Really fucking tired and I'm probably in shock, okay? I was just freaking myself out, is all. I'm fine." She's still holding the hand he helped her down with and she gives it a reassuring squeeze. "I'm okay, Joel. We're okay, yeah?" Recognition flashes in his eyes, dispersing the panic, replacing it with something like shock. She gives him a small smile, but it does nothing to ease the heaviness in her chest. "We're good." And she means it, she  _does_ , in more ways than one. "Just give me a minute, will you?" She just needs to breathe, to  _think_ , and she can't do that with him so close and  _there_.

He looks so painfully unconvinced that she has to look away, not wanting to watch further concern play out across his face. She's had more than her fill of that expression for a lifetime. She hears him shift uncomfortably beside her and move off to the side. She feels something close to guilt at forcing him away, and swallows a laugh at how fucking stupid she is. Still, when the footsteps don't stop, she almost calls him back. The next moment, though, they do, and she hears him exhale deeply not far away. The words die on her tongue, and she's relieved.

Even though Joel does his best not to hover, she's hyperaware of his presence, making it difficult to organize her thoughts. She shuts her eyes, curling herself into a ball so she can rest her head, now throbbing, on the tops of her knees. All she can think of is the same mantra, over and over again.  _The cure is gone, the cure is gone_. It's not true, she  _is_  the cure and she's still here, still breathing –someone once told her that small, panicky breaths count-, but… she's alone in that, again. She won't save the world, won't prevent the Tess' and the Sam's and the Riley's out there from turning or dying. What would they think if they could see her now, watching her walk away from her gift, her  _duty_?

They'd hate her, of course they fucking would. She wouldn't be able to blame them, either.

With her heart in her throat, she raises her head a fraction and looks at Joel through the red haze of her bangs. She takes him in, noting the exhaustion etched into his face and the slump of his shoulders, and for a moment she thinks she might understand; not just the situation, but the man himself, and all the pain and instability that makes him up.

Distantly, she realizes she should be disgusted by him, or terrified, or some sickening combination of both. She searches herself for any emotion that vaguely resembles either one in relation to Joel, and comes up short. She feels something like disappointment, something like relief, and a complete lack of surprise.

She wants to be angry, she knows she should be. Every breath cycling through her lungs has been bought with blood and that should bother her. She had been ready, so ready to give everything she had to save the world, save humanity. Ever since Riley –the grief Ellie's used to feeling at the thought of that first death is replaced by a strange sort of numbness, and she wonders again at what she's become- she'd been determined to end the suffering the pandemic caused, and if she were to die in the process… well, she'd already survived long enough. Now that opportunity, that duty has been taken from her, and she should hate the man who did it. She should want to run –it doesn't matter that he'd catch her, she should  _want_  to- and find a way to create the cure regardless.

She survived for a reason, she's been given a gift, and now she's walking away from it. The guilt should be crushing her with its weight, pulling her to her feet and sending her far away from here, from him. But here she is.

"You keep findin' somethin' to fight for," he said, and she knows she's that for him. It's not safe, and it's not anything close to sane, but it is what it is. She can't bring herself to walk away from it, either.

Would it be so hard to believe him, to pretend he isn't lying through his teeth?

She's not sure what's going to burn her out faster; the guilt that's clawing up her throat like a rabid animal or the fierce relief that's making her eyes burn in their sockets. Guilt, because everything really  _was_  for nothing, at the end of it all. Everything they've been through, everything she's done, amounts to fuck all. Relief, because for better or worse, it's finally fucking  _over_. She's shaking again, this time of her own accord, and she tells herself that her eyes are watering because she's completely drained, not because she's crying. She's so tired of fucking  _crying_.

She stands up before Joel can see, before he can try and comfort her and just make her feel worse. Her head spins at the sudden movement, but she forces herself to stay upright, stumbling only slightly at first.

She blinks rapidly; trying to clear her vision and figure out which direction they're headed. "We're headin' left," Joel informs her quietly, still with that irritating soothing tone. She grits her teeth, annoyed that he knew what she was thinking, that he may as well be inside her head; that she still knows so little about the inside of his. She doesn't turn to acknowledge him, but gives a sharp nod and heads left. She hears him fall into step behind her, but he doesn't move to enter her line of sight. That hurts her, and she berates herself for being an idiot because she's not supposed to care.

_I'm supposed to hate you,_  she thinks dejectedly, vision blurring again. She tries to blink the tears back, because if she uses her sleeve he'll see and she doesn't want him to  _see_ …

Her foot catches badly on an exposed tree root and she lets loose a stream of curses, finally giving in and wiping her eyes as she tears her foot free. The pain is sudden and intense, and she bites through her lip to stop herself from crying out, blood flowing into her mouth and staining it with the familiar taste of iron and salt. She hears Joel say something behind her, but she ignores him and keeps moving. The pain is a decent distraction, and it doesn't slow her down all that much. It's not even sprained, she's pretty sure.

She thinks she hears him growl something along the lines of, "Fuck this," before there's a hand on her arm –her bitten arm- pulling her to a dead stop with an iron grip.

She doesn't say,  _'You're hurting me_ ,' and he doesn't loosen his hold on her. He's pushed up her sleeve, and the tips of his fingers just barely graze the bite. Something inside of her recoils in fear –not of him but  _for_  him- even though she knows he won't get infected just by touching it. "Sit," he demands. He releases her, and she does what he says, arm prickling slightly where his hand just was. He doesn't look at her as he crouches down to her level, busying himself instead with examining her foot. "You're gonna have one hell of a bruise," he mutters, more to himself than her. He's not angry –she's heard him angry, knows how his voice gets low and dark like thunder, and this isn't it- but he's not pleased, either.

"It's fine," she says, because she feels like she has to say  _something_. He  _does_  look up at her then, and she catches a flicker of emotion before he closes off again. They stare each other down like this for a moment. The muscles in his jaw bunch and relax, and she has to choke down the desire to make him say whatever it is he wants to say.

Joel sighs. "Listen," he begins. She looks at him expectantly, and for a moment his expression is open and she can see her own fears reflected back at her. His eyes dart away from her, and she watches whatever courage he's built up fade away. "We're, uh, almost at Tommy's," he says unnecessarily; they can both already see the town coming up ahead. She nods anyways, disappointment rising like bile at the back of her throat.

_Who the hell was I kidding?_  she thinks bitterly, pushing herself up and resting her weight on her good foot.  _Shit happens and we move on, right Joel?_

He catches her bitten arm again, just as she's moving out of reach, and she turns sharply to face him. "Make up your fucking mind," she snaps, tense and ready to tear herself from his grip and run the rest of the way to the dam. She doesn't, only by a small margin, because… because it's Joel.

He's not looking at her, when she turns. He's looking at her arm, and it's not difficult to follow his line of sight to the bite. She wants to snap again, to hurl abuse or hit him or  _something_ , just to get him looking at her again, and not that stupid scar. She's tired of people chalking up everything she is to that fucking bite.

She doesn't expect him to touch it, not on purpose. She expects him to be disgusted, or at least unsettled. People generally are, if they're not too distracted trying to kill her for it. She nearly jumps out of her skin when he traces it with his thumb. He tenses up, pulling away. "Sorry," he mutters.

She grabs his hand before it pulls away completely. "It's fine," she says, and wishes more than anything that she could think of something else to say, something that could fix all of this. He stares searchingly at her for a long moment, and she wonders what it is he's looking for.

"All that fuss," he muses, eyes flicking back down as he traces the raised scar tissue once more, "over this."

"Yeah," she says, and she can't breathe again. Her throat closes up, and Joel's image blurs in front of her. She wipes furiously at her eyes with her sleeves, past caring if he sees.  _All that fuss, for nothing._

"We should keep movin'," he says, and she's grateful for the change in subject. "Reckon we don't wanna try our luck in the dark. It'll be hard enough to get them to let us in as is." She nods, because he's right and because there's nothing else to say. "You alright to walk?" he asks, and she becomes aware of the throb in her foot again.

She shrugs. "It's not that far," she reasons, "and it doesn't hurt that much." He gives her a skeptical look, and her earlier irritation bubbles up once more. "What, are you gonna carry me the rest of the way?" She knows he's thinking of endless hallways and gunshots ringing out and  _we're okay, I gotcha_. She regrets the words the second they're out of her mouth, but she bites hard on her lip to stop an apology from coming out, reopening the wound from moments ago.

Joel doesn't flinch at her words –her  _accusation_ \- and says calmly, "If you want me to."

"Yeah, well. I don't. I can walk," she grits out, trying not to grimace at the taste of blood in her mouth.

"Then walk," he says, still with that unshakable calm, "and stop hurtin' yourself." Before she has a chance to bite out a response, he's pulling out a clean cloth from the pocket of his jeans and dabbing at her split lip. She grimaces, both at the pain and the knowledge that she must look terrible, tear streaks and blood staining her face.

"Thanks," she mutters, taking the cloth from him. He acknowledges her with a nod, and starts moving. He's slowed his pace more than a bit, and she huffs in annoyance. She refrains from snapping that she can keep up, and they continue on in silence.

After a while, Joel clears his throat. He's not looking at her when he begins, "Listen, Ellie…" She makes a noise that's meant to be a response. "When we get back to Tommy's, if you wanna… I reckon we should get some food, get some rest, and then we can figure it out from there. You can… you can figure out what you wanna do." His voice is still level, but she can sense the underlying calm is gone. She watches his fists clench, and she's momentarily lost in confusion at his discomfort.

It takes her a moment to understand, but once it clicks her stomach drops instantly. "I'm pretty sure I remember promising we'd go wherever you wanted," she says in a tone she hopes comes across as casual.  _Fuck you, you're not allowed to do this, not now. You're not allowed to give me a choice now, it's too late._

"I ain't holdin' you to that," he assures her, resigned like she's already made up her mind.

"Yeah? Fuck that. I'm holding myself to it," she snaps, beyond frustrated at his assumption. " _I_ keep my promises."

He  _does_  flinch at that. His voice is strained when he says, "Ellie…"

"Fuck you. Just… fuck you, Joel. We stick together." That's the only thing they  _have_  done, the only promise that hasn't been torn to shreds. She picks up speed, bruised foot be damned, leaving him to hang back or catch up as he pleases.

She looks back about a minute in, slowing her pace so she doesn't trip again and fuck up her other foot. She's relieved to note he's only a few feet behind her; less so when she realizes he's looking right at her. Caught, she rolls her eyes and huffs, in what she thinks is a convincing display of impatience. "Get moving, old man. I thought you wanted to make it there before dark?" She turns back around before he can see through her, or notice the uncomfortable flush on her face.

Fortunately, the front gates come into view mere moments later, and Ellie scoffs as the guards immediately start shouting demands. "You're welcome for saving your sorry asses," she gripes under her breath. The idea of getting riddled with bullets at the tail-end of this mess doesn't seem too appealing, though, so she raises her hands above her head obediently.

Joel comes up beside her, his hands mirroring hers. "Alright?" he asks, quietly enough so only she can hear. She doesn't respond for a moment, thoroughly at a loss for words.  _What the hell do you think?_   _It's gone, it's all gone… how the fuck am I supposed to be alright?_ she wants to ask. She nearly does, turning to face him with the words sharp on her tongue. He regards her expectantly, and she doesn't think she's imagining the tinge of desperation in his eyes. All she can hear is his voice echoing in the hospital hallways, the way it cracked when he thought they were done for. He's the same man now, unsure and beyond distraught. Her nerve fails her in the face of that despair, and she stays silent. "Ellie?" he asks quietly, eyebrows knitting together with concern.

The gates begin to open with a deafening creak, and as the shouting from the other side grows louder Ellie realizes that this could all end pretty badly. She chews on her lip, careful not to split the wound again. She makes a snap decision, grabbing Joel's hand and threading her fingers through his.  _Just in case_ , she thinks to herself.

"We're okay," she assures him quietly. He tightens his hand around hers.

"Guess so," he says, and the expression on his face is more unsure than she's ever seen. 'Okay' is new to him, she knows. It's new to her, too; completely uncharted territory. She's looking forward to documenting every inch of it. The air isn't as heavy between them now. Ellie breathes a little easier. She doesn't exactly know where they're supposed to go from here. The unknown is as unsettling as ever, but she has a sense that they'll have time to figure it out.

They've gone and destroyed the world, the both of them. They'll have to figure out how to live with it. At least, she will. Joel seems dead set on fighting for her, on keeping her safe. That's how he copes. She'll probably end up doing the same and returning the favor. It's what she's been doing for a year. She doesn't think she could learn to do anything else. She's not sure she wants to.

She'll process the greater implications of that when her brain is working better. Maybe. Or maybe she'll force herself to believe Joel's story, that they stopped looking for a cure.  _Yeah right_ , she thinks bitterly.  _And maybe I won't have nightmares about this whole fucking day for the rest of my life._  She sighs quietly enough that Joel won't hear. He seems to feel it all the same, and he squeezes her hand. She looks over at him. He smiles. Really, actually smiles. It's small and shy and rusty from lack of use, but it's real. And everything has gone to hell, but they're still breathing and Joel is fucking smiling, of all things, and  _he's not going anywhere._ And suddenly, she's grinning right back, fuck if she knows  _why_.

"We're okay," he says.

And they are.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [You Could Still Be](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2042256) by [writtenwords_and_constellations](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtenwords_and_constellations/pseuds/writtenwords_and_constellations)




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